


Gooey Dies in a Cake Overdose

by NullBubby



Series: Gooey Dies.zip [8]
Category: Kirby (Video Games)
Genre: gooey friccin dies, gooey gets too much sugar and may or may not start hallucinating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28762740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NullBubby/pseuds/NullBubby
Summary: Gooey forgets the meaning of safety and eats a bit too much.
Series: Gooey Dies.zip [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743142





	Gooey Dies in a Cake Overdose

Hauled, cornered in the frailest and palest lifeforce of light—the very last, the very fewest pieces of a new beginning—the darkness fretted upon the terrible sight, the greatest horror beyond comprehension it was to witness. Tainted with silence, it turned and toiled before an only blob, but frankly, he was too bothered to care. A final turn, a last flick of spit, and a click, and the dance of darkness screeched its demise.

In all truthfulness, he’d have really liked to have stopped, gotten to know some of it before the terror of justice fell, but it was long too late. How inconsiderate it was to make such a mistake as neglecting so much a compromise; even while considering his own reasonings for flicking the light switch, there were hardly matters worse. Not until, of course, his own bothers or matters of mind, but with a humble stump on the ground, he just waved his tongue, flashed a salute of spit to the surroundings, and forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

There really _was_ nothing around, it seemed. Just one look and he’d get to know full well how much he’d hate to admit the scenery—maybe his own greed, for continuously begging so much from nothing—but soon enough, it was so much more. The world churned, spun, like his eyes were truly the ones scanning around the desolate closet, then faster, a true mist among midsts cramping his face, squinting his posture. All of a sudden, it fell, deep down with all the sounds emitted, and at once, his face lifted to the skies, whined some highest pitch, and whirled one last time before collapsing over the floor.

It was really too bad the stone didn’t taste so succulent as any other he’d witnessed, but he couldn’t complain. After all, he wasn’t even out for that cause—for that matter, he wasn’t out for something he could remember. Sandwiches? Maybe, maybe not, but he couldn’t bother with the time anymore.

If to break the commotion, he’d have simply given a warm welcome to friends of dimness and darkness both, but he was so famished he could hardly consider anything but shutting the light back off. Through the hall, bumping the door—mild confusion in attempting to make sense of a sort of handle stemming from its front—and finally out, he trekked into the openness of daylight... and people called it a “square”?

There were so many; he couldn’t restrain giddiness. Even much a bound, he couldn’t help but yelp with his deepest feeling exposed, and he flew, so joyfully around the stone bricks lining the floor, the faces of blankness, wonder, and mostly fear, and anywhere around the bright beams, beyond sunrise. By the time he was finished, his finalized corner had cleared for far as any looked willing to approach, but he was more concerned on drooling than conversing.

Not that it wasn’t his specialty taking eye of such shiny stuffs, but for once, he wasn’t interested in a spying game. One look round, and he’d be bored to hunger—and he really hated to settle hunger. Maybe a bit in dizziness, too. So pale and gleaming, so ticky and teeming with sparks of stripes, he sagged, scratched his head, and nodded off to the abyss of some steadily disturbed crowd.

Clear as his own sense of direction, he bounded toward, somewhere off into the abysmal depths of open air and sunlight, until stumbling over himself. He sagged, touched his head, then got distracted with a taste test over himself for some minutes. A colorful striped helmet whizzed by, flailing cable and all, but he found he was more interested in staring the sun to the ground rather than whatever paled audience continued their own gawk.

“Yeah, uh-huh. Right on over yonder.”

A full second passed, and he spun, dizzying to a spire, to a hopeless drill, all until finally resting. He wasn’t much into it, but there had to have been _something_ wishing his collapse, given how tired he already was.

“C’mon. Jus’ a second. Look.”

“Marx, just...”

“What?”

Ahead, he noticed a great, lush blue, and he twirled a greeting from however far. By first flick of his tongue, any sense of passersby had fled to nothing, but he was hardly focused on much else than the fact he was given an appropriate response—a quickest jolt.

The figure tapped his colorful cohort, a certain shudder in his eye, but it came far too late. All allowed was a twist, an equally misguided expression of likely confusion, then the sudden, googly face had arrived for encounter.

“What’re ya’ looking at?”

“Uh, hey... Gooey,” he said, scratching the rear of his head. After met with nothing but a drop of distant drool culminating, he twitched, backed half a second. “What’re... uh—What’ve you been doing around here?”

The words were doubtlessly intentful, but to see something so delicious speak, he couldn’t bait. Like the perfect, most succulent dish, he could imagine it so wonderfully despite the growing shiver of the delicious egg’s blue face—something big, and juicy, and tasty all over when he stuck his tongue on any tip of the sizzled laughter concocted to such a model substance.

He only drooled to the face of confusion, despite its hardest contrast against shades of gray.

“Should I tell ‘im there wasn’t a word of that that was just understood?”

“Marx! Uh—”

“What? We’re busy, ain’t we?”

Magolor groaned, lifted a hand into his face, and hurled one enormous sigh into himself. Another droplet of spit called back some fleeting attention.

“What did you have planned, exactly?”

“I dunno. Was just offerin’ out some suggestions, you tell me if you’re interested in—” He suddenly stopped his bounding, and stared deep into the side silence of commotion. “C’mon, how ‘bout that lil’ contest over there, eh? Just join in, one sec—”

“I’m not interested.”

“You _like_ cake, don’cha? Be a slice of pie, winning that trophy, or whatever they got as first prize!” He shifted toward, sliding his feet along until directly beneath his delicious companion’s shadow. “Just this once—I’ll do whatever you want for a day if ya’ just join into it. Don’t even need to win!”

“Marx!”

They suddenly separated. His tongue slid to the perspectival gap between them, and his face sunk.

“Just no, okay?”

Marx held, gawking with a gaping mouth for a moment, then reared. With a shallow mumble, he turned to the floor and hushed himself.

By the time he could’ve considered looking back, they were gone, anyway. Just the word was all he needed to bother hearing, and he’d be beaming a beeline, his tongue hightailed into the skies of tasteless aridity. Not that he was much considering something elsewise, but he hardly knew his own stature at all, he was so eager, so twisted beyond fathomability past the sweetest scent of that blue-robed fellow behind.

After all, it was a wonderful experience getting to know such a lusciously striped helmet of all chaos ahead.

The first aroma was so dense he nearly fainted at first test. He skipped toward, almost crashing a few unbeknown bystanders, right into the next tent, and he was off, raising his spit to all it could slime with the benefit of taste. Someone watched as he spent his tongue over most every bowl and utensil, waddly feet towering in fear on the farthest corner stool in his approach, and, with a second to spare, he crooked his face.

Maybe another day, he decided—that white hat wouldn’t do much good. With a final sweep of his brightest and tightest sense of them all, he twitched, patrolled the outskirts of the room until remembering where the exit was, and left the cluttered kitchen in all its mess as he scooted off to the next peak of interest.

Out a moment into sight of sunlight, he suddenly stopped, bumped a flimsy frigid barricade, and tumbled, into the floor where he could continue his journey down to nowhere. A mile passed, and finally, he turned up from the succulent savor of the ground—he could only stare, goggling into the fairer gaze of pale nothingness in the sky. Some steps traded amongst the leveling whispers, but he was mesmerized, such a blurry cloud in view he couldn’t wait to get a lick on.

The afflicted helmet turned with jittery eye, only to soon leave his company, its dull cable scraping across the floor as he continued his journey along. One eye, two eyes, they held in all the colors and worlds of whatever littering the plaza, the decorations, the stands, and the few, staring. So wonderful and awe-inspiring; he felt some grass would do about fine as a meal in the meantime.

Half along, brushing and accidentally shoving by some—he’d have really liked to say he was sorry for the trouble—he stepped onto the perfect, plain bed of weeds bordering the mucky smells of stone and whatnot else made up that disgusting thing people walked on. Like a crowded catastrophe of colorless clones, his peripheral view faded into a sponge of spattered shades, and at once, he took the first delve of the new bladed land.

Only, it wasn’t quite as tasty, even tolerable, as he remembered. With a flick of an eye, he swallowed, frowned, and circled his patch a good hour more until someone spoke a first word. Somehow he felt to turn, past the garbled trees and murky mess of cosmic cogs in the air, all the way around and around until falling limp over himself again. Another few lines were ushered, and he finally scooted off, contemplating something about what a star could taste like.

A final call broke the momentary silence, then, upon his arrival of the distant side, a crowd erupted with expressions of all sort. In a sudden spurt of uncontaminated glee, he hopped, waved his tongue to no one, and cheered, right alongside the whole spectacle of flavors and tastes of faces all toward the only thing he wasn’t looking at.

It was sooner he got bored with the situation, despite the growing explosion, but right away, right past his favorite sight of bread, coatings, and endless rainbows of sprinkles—caked with frosting—he tapped something even more fulfilling, dropped his face to a slab, and limped off, away from the delicious desserts of the past. For a good sense, he’d might’ve wished to see what kind, what color, what reason he had for marching so humbly into a batch of frosting, but the shadow of a looming space enthusiast only fell silent to mind.

Flavorful, so doubtlessly so, it impended upon the floor, licking the plate to hold it with all frailty before the eagerest tongue. He too knew the face of certainty awaiting him from behind, but without so much a twist, or even a remark to himself, he drooled.

A scratchy spark sputtered the air, and as sudden as an second, his tongue reached from its lonesomeness, out from the depths of its soggier cave, and lashed forward. Droplets rained before even making his destination apparent, but despite it, the signs of starlight fading into faintest remnants, he struck the most perfect cake of all his ever life, a great compiled monstrosity of fruit and friendly frosting, instantly shattering it into halves and returning drops of flung cream. Somewhere, a great cheer returned, but regardless the added confidence he’d have seen, the whole bulk of it swung into his mouth like a hyper halted worker—by merest matter of dawning moonlight, the last speck of sugar drowned in his mouth, and he congratulated himself with a salute and a slump.

But right as he was to reenter the realm of the tasteless, a sudden face flickered before view—a stopped, infinite spectacle of stars, looming as far as his tongue could stretch to the air. He waved nonchalantly, skipping along past the hovering gears of whatnot, only for a twist to emerge of himself. He hardly knew where he was looking, but the next plate said all he needed to know.

Into the ravaging of the next dessert, he touched and swayed all his mightiest wrath of taste along the frosty monstrosity. Gone, it was, within seconds more, but nothing could stop him from thirds, after all, and he continued to the next, and the next, and onward, adventuring forward deep past the hints of sunlight, past the shroud of a bush. By the final one, he couldn’t be any less ready for another speck, another merest crumb, but his fellow traveler seemed to have other plans.

It was a marvel, indeed—the greatest, sugar-coated mountain of sweet scents and what whatnot he couldn’t bother describing. Though even taller than himself, even taller than the first few strands of grass lining the drowned sobs of a distant voice, the heart of the trees, he cared for little more than his own fluffed tongue. He’d have made it pretty far, even, judging by his greatest imagination of how much taller it could spire, but then came something else. Something huge, but only huge as himself, something dark, mysterious, but most importantly new.

He instantly switched to the shadowy marble, forgotten of its sudden encounter with what looked a rip in the air itself, only for a taste of nothing. Expressing disappointment, he churned in place, tumbled, and twisted, where his new companion still floated—spiraling him to too much dizziness. So bland, yet simultaneously deep, he followed each tooth of each cog, around, spun so mesmerizingly slow as he sank amongst the new, tinted surface he found himself in. Before then, he waved outside, beyond the shallow orb drooping the whole ground without him, and finally, he shut his eye and ignored the hiccup of thin air as he dozed, dreaming the lullaby of his favorite bowl of apples.


End file.
